


(anybody can be good once) but he's good all the time

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25186480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: While creating a recipe for the holiday rush, Brock and Jack disagree on what kind of pet they should get.They eventually figure out -- but not in the way expected.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	(anybody can be good once) but he's good all the time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarSpangledBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/gifts).



“Want to taste it?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Jack came up behind Brock, long strong arms wrapping around his middle, chin resting on his shoulder.

The rich sauce simmered softly in the Le Creuset saucepan Jack had gifted Brock after his promotion to head chef. The smell was mouthwatering and Jack was, as always, eager for a taste. He pulled Brock’s hips back a little, relishing the way Brock’s body fit so perfectly against him. Jack’s lips ghosted the soft flesh of Brock’s neck, eyeing the pan hungrily. 

“What is it?”

Brock spared a look of disbelief. “Brown butter sauce. You’d think you would know all this by now.” 

Jack just smiled. “You’re the chef, not me.” 

“You can say that again. You left burnt toast in the toaster this morning.” 

Brock glanced over his shoulder to see Jack smiling sheepishly. “Whoops.” 

With a fond headshake, he went to the side-by-side and retrieved the plate of freshly cut filet mignons and stooped down to grab the meat grinder. Jack had abandoned his paperwork by the look of it, sliding into a stool at the bar. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack protested immediately. “You’re not going to grind those up, right?” 

Brock just grinned, attaching it to the edge of the counter. Jack stared on in distraught as Brock fed the cuts of beef into the teeth. When it was all ground into the bowl, Brock moved to the bar to assemble the minced mixture. 

“You’re a monster, you know that?”

“I try my best.” Brock replied cheekily. “I’m trying to figure out what to do for our memorial day crowd. I want something classic but also, refined, you know? Grown up, sophisticated.”

“And to do that you need to murder delicious steaks?” 

“It’s all about tenderness,” Brock washed his hands before he went back to the fridge, grabbing a container of butter. 

He dropped a very generous dollop of butter onto of it and, after a moment of consideration, another three.  
“Oh, I get it. You’re trying to give all your guests a coronary.” 

“Fat gives flavor, you jerk. If you wanna watch, be supportive.” 

Jack drew in a laborious sigh he stayed where he was. Brock was used to this kind of banter, it kept things interesting when he was testing new recipe ideas. His presence was actually very comforting even with him poking fun at his new recipes. Plus, Jack was a good sport when it came to being his guinea pig. Brock hummed at the mixture and went back to the fridge in search of garlic. He pulled open the crisper and assessed what he had. The borrage would be excellent garnish for the gnocchi he was thinking about pairing the dish with. The purple flower would be a nice pop of color and Brock hated inedible garnishes. He grabbed the summer savory, and, as an afterthought, winter savory as well. He set beside the bowl before going back to retrieve thyme and tarragon. 

Brock had to work quickly, the butter already beginning to melt. He tossed the herbs and basic spices of salt and pepper before he slipped on a pair of gloves and got down to kneading it all together. 

It was tricky to grind up extremely tender meat. It was fragile and without a good fat binder, there was a risk of the meat just falling apart. And that was the absolute last thing Brock wanted. When it was properly mixed, Brock quickly put plastic wrap over the bowl and placed it in the fridge so the butter didn’t melt down while he tried to figure out what bread to place the patty on and what kind of cheese would compliment it. He leaned back against the counter, eyeing the selection and Jack took it upon himself to fill the silence. 

“You know, I was thinking about getting a dog. Something to protect the house -- and you -- when I’m not here and to go on runs with me.” 

Brock turned around at that. They’d talked about getting a pet for a while now, weighing the pros and cons of it. But now that Brock was head chef he spent far more time home, creating recipes and less time putting in endless hours at the restaurant. He still worked four days a week for long hours overlooking his cooks and ensuring the food that came out had his seal of approval. But, during these discussions, it was always Brock asking for a cat. Something to spend time with him during the days when Jack was overwhelmed with clients and in court all hours of the day.

“A cat,” Brock argued.

“A cat can’t keep you safe if a client decides to break in here.” Jack’s face was set in stone. 

Brock thought that Jack was overreacting. Yes, one had broken into Brock’s car once and stole his radio to get back at Jack for not being to keep their brother out of jail. But home invasion was another thing altogether. 

“A cat will keep my company while I’m standing in this kitchen trying to figure out how to keep things new and fresh.” Brock didn’t have time to argue so he shook his head. “Never mind. Why don’t you go see if Steve and Tony want to come over. I need their opinions.”

“Alright.” 

Jack was never one to argue which was a good thing. Brock had heard his parents arguing his entire life and he never wanted that for him and Jack. After assessing the array of breads he had -- sourdough, french bread, half a baguette, brioche buns, and ciabatta rolls -- he selected the brioche. He set them aside as he began to shape his burgers, laying all four of them in the pan with butter and a few sprigs of rosemary tucked around them. Brock was eyeing the buns as he pressed his thumb into the center of the burger, dimpling them to reduce shrinkage. It struck him that the burger would need cheese so he pivoted and went back to the side-by-side. They had far too much cheese to begin with. Brock cooked with it constantly and Jack ate it constantly. Thankfully there was enough challerhocker left that Brock quickly sliced up. He was in a time crunch and that always got his mind working so much better than when he was standing still. 

Five minutes per side meant he had to get things together fast. He cut up the buns, sliding them into the broiler. If he didn’t toast them, they would absorb the brown butter sauce he was going to dress them with and get soggy. And that didn’t say fine dining. He flipped the burgers, eyeing the bubbling caramelized meat and laid the cheese on immediately. The door opened but Brock didn’t care. They were very well used to him when he got into cooking mode, chatting amongst themselves. 

Brock grabbed down plates. He could worry about how he’d like to plate the dish once he figured out if it was good or not. It was handy to have Steve and Tony next door. Tony had a taste for the more expensive dishes and Steve didn’t like his food too posh. Brock’s restaurant sat snuggly between those things. All the class without as much of the oppression that came with it. He slathered the bottom buns with the sauce and then grabbed the frying pan, transferring each patty to the buns. He set the pan aside, staring at it, before the realization that it was missing toppings hit him. 

He kept it simple, a leaf of butter lettuce to continue the theme of his butter burgers, and very thinly sliced cherokee purple tomatoes were placed on the top bun. 

Then grabbed the gnocchi, tossing them in the brown butter sauce and grating parmigiano over it, placing the borrage on top. He took a breather then, finally seeing the dish in front of him, and he was proud of it. “You okay there Mr. Chef?” 

Tony was leaning back, the bottle of wine he’d brought along sitting open between them. Brock hadn’t even noticed Jack coming into the kitchen get grab wine glasses. “If you like this, then yes.” 

“When have we ever not liked your food?” 

“There’s a first time for everything.” 

Brock was good at grabbing multiple plates from his serving days and he carried all four plates to the table. “I feel like it’s missing something acidic,” Brock admitted. 

“Is this edible?” Steve asked, poking at the borage. 

“It is.” 

He popped into his mouth immediately, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s like…sweet.” 

Brock nodded, sinking down in the chair beside Jack. “We freeze it in ice cubes from cocktails but I feel like it’s a good garnish within itself.” 

Tony offered to pour the wine and Brock nodded gratefully. Jack went for the burger first and Brock brought the glass to his lips. Anxiety fluttered around his stomach as he waited for the worst to happen. Jack chewed quietly and then set the burger back down. 

“This is incredible.”

Steve went in for the burger and nodded his head in agreement, hastily going for another bite. Tony was trying the gnocchi first, examining it on his fork. “These are homemade right?”

Brock nodded his head. 

“Good. I hate store bought ones.”

He popped them in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “They’re potato and ricotta,” Brock said quickly. “I don’t usually mix them but I thought something creamy would go well with a meaty dish.”

“It’s perfect, texture wise. And the sauce… I like it but maybe some heat would have been nice.”

Brock nodded his head gratefully. The reason he had them sample his food was that they were honest with him. Tony never bothered with social graces, he said what was on his mind. And Steve… Well, he was handy when it came to making sure they didn’t have to cram leftovers into their already overfilled fridge. Jack was slightly less reliable as well. He would tell Brock things were fantastic when they really were just okay. Tony didn’t pull any punches. Brock was already thinking about sprinkling them with some red pepper flakes for that bite it needed. 

“You better like the burgers, he murdered some very nice steaks for it.” 

Tony grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

Steve was halfway through his burger and Jack was alternating between the gnocchi and bites of the burger. Tony lifted the burger with a hum. “A burger huh?” 

“I wanted to do something classic for Memorial Day, but I wanted to dress it up.” Brock explained. “A grown up version, if you will.” 

Tony took a testing bite, quietly chewing. Brock’s anxiety peaked and he fidgeted under the table. “I think this is the juiciest burger I’ve ever had. It’s good, Brock. It’s really fucking good.” 

“You should have seen how much butter he put in.” 

Brock rolled his eyes. “Fat means flavor,” he reminded Jack for the umpteenth time.

“You’ve got my approval on it.” Tony took another bite and Brock finally went lax and allowed himself taste his own food. 

He’d have to run it past his sous chefs but he never wanted to present something he wasn’t completely confident in. 

** ** ** **

Brock caved on the idea of a dog very shortly after Memorial weekend. He’d spent the evening of Memorial Day overseeing the dishes coming out to a completely packed house. Jack had wanted one for a long time and it was selfish of Brock to deny him. So, after Jack left on Monday, he grabbed his keys and went to the highest rated puppy friendly pet stores. He wasn’t going to give his business to the stores that sold dogs from puppy mills. 

He was hit with the smell of wood chippings and that general pet store smell that wasn’t quite good but also not really offensive. A chipper employee scurried over, eager to assist. Brock waved them away, wandering towards the enclosed area where puppies were barking. He tried to ignore the kittens to his best ability. There were six of them. Four looked like mixed breeds, one was a very small dachshund and the last one was a teacup terrier. “Ma’am,” Brock turned towards the employee who was fussing over an display of bird food. 

She came over immediately. 

“Do you know the breeds they’re mixed with? Our building doesn’t allow pitbulls.” 

Brock had combed over their lease agreement intent on making sure they were getting the right kind of dog. “Well, these three are,” she pointed to the three currently tussling by the bowl of water. “This little guy is a canaan dog, icelandic sheepdog mix. It’s a very idyllic breeding and is already a beautiful dog but... He was sent to the shelter because he was deaf.” 

Jack had accused Brock of having a bleeding heart plenty of times but he didn’t really care. He thanked her and pulled up his phone to do a bit of research on if it would fit what Jack had requested. It seemed like a good mix, he should be both energetic and alert. The photos of each breed were all gorgeous as well. Brock couldn’t believe someone would have gotten rid of such a beautiful dog simply because he was deaf. Brock quickly found a site devoted to the care of a deaf dog and he decided that this was the dog. After all, he never liked to do things the easy way. Brock stuck out his hand where the puppy could see him. He got up from where he was lying and ambled over, sniffing at his head before his little pink tongue lapped over his skin. Carefully Brock touched his fur. It was soft, caramel and white in color with black tipped ears and a black tail as well. 

He went to the front and requested him, paying. He needed to get the proper supplies for a deaf dog. Brock had already swung by the local department store to get supplies but he’d need to get a different vest than the reflective one he'd grabbed initially. It was important to let others know he was as deaf dog. 

“Can I leave him here until I get the proper equipment?” 

She nodded her head and offered to groom him up for free. Brock agreed and hurried to the closest store that had what he was looking for. He got a bit held up looking for the right collar. There were several that said DEAF in bright yellow letters but he wasn’t sure if he should get a black one or a dark blue one. After a moment of debate he settled on the dark blue one and returned to pick up Jack (and his) new dog. 

** ** ** ** 

When Jack got home, he had a large gift in his arms that he set aside as he saw the puppy lying by the table. 

“Brock?” 

Brock was preparing food for him, brown rice on the stove and a turkey breast in his hands he was running through the meat grinder. “I left naming him up to you.” 

As Jack stepped inside the puppy felt the vibrations and jumped his feet, barking. Jack set the gift carefully on the table and Brock eyed it curiously. Jack liked to bring him home little luxuries for the kitchen. Expensive crystal glasses, new kitchen appliances… 

“I can’t believe you did this,” Jack’s voice was soft in awe as he knelt down carefully. 

The puppy stopped barking and carefully edged towards the new person. Brock finished mincing the turkey breast and poured the meat onto the warmed skillet. In a new bowl he began to shred carrots and zucchini into the bowl. 

“I know you’ve always wanted a dog ever since you were a kid.” Brock turned back to the stove, making sure the meat was browning nicely. There was no oil added, no spices yet. He would had a pinch of ginger and some blueberries for a bit of sweetness. “All I ask is that you let me run his diet.” 

“Brock…” Jack was petting the dog. 

“I know he’s deaf but his original owners set him to the shelter because of that. He’s a canaan dog and icelandic sheepdog mix. He’s going to be absolutely gorgeous when he grows up. Even cuter than he is now.” Brock might have been rambling but he was worried that maybe he’d made a mistake and Jack would ask him to send him back. 

Jack got to his feet with a heavy sigh and Brock’s stomach sunk. He looked up from his shredding to see Jack lifting the top off the gift. He turned around with a kitten with gold fur and dark spots, a long tail and long ears. “You didn’t.” 

“I thought it would be a good compromise. A dog sized cat.” Jack held onto the Savannah cat while the puppy jumped on his leg barking in alarm. “I really didn’t think you’d buy me a dog…” 

Brock turned back to the ground turkey, mind reeling. 

“I guess we’ve got two pets now huh?” Jack chuckled. “I gotta put this guy into the guest bathroom to acclimate. I have stuff for him down in my car.” 

“I’d kiss you if I wasn’t cooking.” Brock said with a small smile. 

“You can kiss me later when we figure out names for these guys.” 

Brock grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
